No Lasting Effects
by Alelou
Summary: Post "Precious Cargo," Trip and T'Pol are on an away mission together and arguing even more than usual when Trip gets clumsy. TnT UST/angst/romance, sort of. No canon was harmed in the writing of this fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

NO LASTING EFFECTS

Summary: Post "Precious Cargo," Trip and T'Pol are on an away mission together and arguing even more than usual. Trip gets clumsy and requires some Vulcan nursing. TnT UST/angst and romance, sort of. No canon was harmed in the writing of this fanfic. This just barely keeps a T rating so if you dislike adult themes, steer clear.

Disclaimer: All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount.

* * *

"I believe you have positioned the drill two centimeters off the coordinates I specified, Commander."

"And?"

"And I do not wish to have to adjust the rest of our sample grid just to accommodate your error. Please correct its position."

"By _two centimeters_?" Trip said. "Do you realize what degree of error we're talking about here?"

"Obviously I do, or I wouldn't ask you to reposition it."

"You're kidding me."

"I am not."

Tucker scowled and pulled the drill. "Maybe you'd better show me exactly what position you have in mind here. I'd hate to be off by even a micron."

"I believe you are fully capable of reading your scanner and placing a drill according to the coordinates supplied."

"Really? You think?" He repositioned the drill. "How's this, Subcommander? I'd sure hate to be wrong again."

She checked her scanner. "That is acceptable."

He started the drill on its controlled blast cycle; a pulse of red light flowed to the ground. "Is there something we need to discuss? Because it seems to me you've been riding my ass even more than usual recently and I'm getting pretty damned sick of it."

T'Pol didn't even look at him, just enunciated in highly frosty tones, "I have never 'ridden your ass,' Mr. Tucker. Frankly, I have difficulty visualizing how one could perform such a feat even if one wished to."

"After one and a half years on this ship you still don't know what 'riding someone's ass' is? I thought you were a faster learner than that. It means being more critical than usual, which in your case is saying _a lot_."

She said nothing, just waited as the blasting stopped and he engaged the mechanical component of the drill. Trip was now convinced that she was indeed upset with him about something; otherwise, she would have zinged him back.

"See?" he said, ratcheting it up. "That was me riding _your_ ass. Just to demonstrate, in case you were still confused."

"Thank you." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. The mechanical component stopped, as it had been preprogrammed to do. She started her scan.

Trip grimaced. Yup, something was definitely up. He scratched his head, trying to figure out what he'd done to piss her off lately. Nothing came to mind … unless it was the captain's chair. And that had been weeks ago now.

"Is this about the chair?"

"The chair?" She sounded perplexed as she focused on her scanner. Because phased energy could alter the physical state of the dilithium they were looking for, they had to stop and switch to mechanical drilling before each scan. She nodded at him to begin another phase burst.

Tucker flipped the switch. This had to be the most boring grunt work he'd faced in months. He almost wished the drill equipment would break down, just so he'd have something more interesting to do. Archer had put them on this detail mapping a dilithium deposit they had detected from orbit on this pleasant Minshara-class planet. He'd ignored T'Pol's suggestion that her skills would be better used leading the science team that was surveying the planet's ecosystem. He'd also ignored Trip's suggestion that Malcolm was the one who really enjoyed drilling holes into things.

Archer had explained that Starfleet badly needed to find sources of dilithium and they were the two best people for the job. Now Trip began to wonder if he hadn't actually thrown them together because he'd noticed more tension than usual.

"The captain's chair. I know I probably got a little rude about not helping you with the sensors and all, but that wasn't really me, you know, it was that singularity thing."

She stared at him. "Commander Tucker, you appear to be convinced that I am responding emotionally to some situation between us. I assure you that this is not the case."

"So nothing I've done or said recently has bothered you in any way? Your snippiness is simply because of some bug up your ass that has nothing to do with me at all?"

"If you are perceiving any "snippiness," it must be a projection of your own emotional state."

"I don't think so. Somehow I've managed to do something that offends you. But I don't know what it is. The _logical_ thing for you to do is to discuss it with me so we can _move on_."

Her eyes narrowed. Apparently she was actually considering his proposal. "Are you sure you really want to hear my frank opinion?"

"Yes!"

"Very well. Since you ask, I felt your behavior in your recent adventure with the Kriosans' future First Monarch warranted a formal reprimand. The captain disagreed."

Trip's mouth dropped open. "A reprimand? I was kidnapped! Not to mention I might have saved her life! What the hell makes that worth a reprimand?"

"As I said, the captain felt I should let it go. I did."

"I ask again: Just what the hell did I do that warranted a reprimand?"

She drew herself up to her full height. "After what happened with the Xyrillians, I would have expected you to have learned your lesson about engaging in intimate activities with alien women you meet briefly in the course of duty. In this case, the diplomatic repercussions could have been extreme."

"I have a standing invitation to visit Krios Prime after Kaitama is made First Monarch. That doesn't sound like an extreme repercussion to me!"

"It is fortunate that it worked out that way. You could just as easily have been charged with assault. Indeed, you may yet be pursued for child support."

He laughed. "I'll tell you what, the real diplomatic disaster was what would have happened if I'd turned her down. That egg wanted some salt."

"You view your behavior as _altruistic?_"

"I didn't say that!" Trip said hotly. "Look. Maybe you Vulcans can't relate to this because you only mate once every seven years, but humans are pretty much ready to go all the time. And _you_ people grow up knowing who you're going to marry, but _we_ have to figure it out on our own and hope for the best. It can get pretty damned lonely when you have to go for months or years without any companionship that way and no certainty you'll ever find any. So if a beautiful alien princess decides she's taken a fancy to me, I might just go for it. I might even feel flattered. And I also don't see that it's anybody's business but hers and mine!"

T'Pol stared at him for a moment. "So you would argue that this is simply a difference between our species that I have failed to grasp."

"Yes!" Trip said. "Exactly."

She seemed to actually be considering his logic. "Apparently the Captain agrees with you."

"Of course he does!" Trip said, perhaps a little more vehemently than was necessary. For all he knew Archer was beginning to think his chief engineer was a hopeless slut.

T'Pol frowned. "Then apparently I am wrong to feel disappointed with your behavior in this situation. I apologize."

"Forget about it," Trip said.

But he couldn't. As the afternoon wore on, her use of the word "disappointed" kept playing over and over in his head. He couldn't quite figure out why it bothered him so much, but it did.

Technically, he had succeeded in his objective. T'Pol had stopped riding his butt. Instead she turned unnaturally quiet.

Apparently, in his brilliance, he'd managed to replace one set of tensions with another. And he liked this set even less.

x x x

T'Pol found it ironic that it had taken an outraged rant from Commander Tucker about his inalienable right to have sex with any female who offered to make her fully realize the terrible mistake she had made over a year earlier.

"_You _people grow up knowing who you're going to marry," he'd said, defending his dalliance with Princess Kaitama as some sort of biological imperative.

Yes, T'Pol had grown up knowing who she was going to marry.

But she didn't know anymore.

Had he somehow forgotten this? Yes, probably he had. Probably his advice about her nuptials had been just as casual as his mating with this princess.

To be fair, he hadn't understood much about Vulcan society at the time. And she had discounted everything he'd said anyway. Or almost everything. Besides, it was hardly his responsibility if she had made the wrong decision.

The point was that she had made the wrong decision.

They were coming up with just enough traces of dilithium to suggest that the next scan might discover something more significant. But as the sun began to lower on the horizon, they had yet to encounter a single deposit of any magnitude. T'Pol suggested that it was time to give up their drilling for the day, and Tucker nodded his agreement.

He had been uncharacteristically subdued all afternoon. When bored, as he surely must be, he was prone to picking arguments, or trying engage her in conversation of some kind. But she was relieved to have the unexpected peace; she had more than enough to occupy her mind already.

Her mother had recently suggested that it was not too late to try to attempt a rapprochement with Koss's parents. She had reminded T'Pol that if she discarded what might be her only chance at marriage, she might never have a child. Was she prepared to accept that consequence of her decision to stay on Enterprise?

Was she?

Perhaps she should write her mother tonight, let her know that she was reconsidering.

Tucker broke down the drill while T'Pol reviewed all their results.

"Everything's stowed and ready to go," he reported.

T'Pol nodded. "Judging from our orbital surveys, it might be worth drilling a few outlying holes tomorrow." She pointed out a few locations on the screen. "However, I would expect them merely to confirm our finding that this planet's deposits are not concentrated enough to support a viable mining operation."

"Whatever you say," he said. "Personally I think it's kind of a shame to ruin a place as pretty as this with a mining operation."

She was surprised that a warp engineer would choose landscape over dilithium, but she saw no point in debating the issue with him. "We should check in with the captain," she said.

Archer was clearly disappointed with their report, but perked up when she suggested the additional drilling the next day. The man was a born optimist.

"Are you coming up for the night?" he asked. "Cutler's team in Shuttlepod Two wants to sleep over. Apparently Travis packed s'mores."

"_S'mores?_"

"I'll let Trip explain that one," Archer said. "So what's your preference?"

Tucker piped up. "I can't speak for T'Pol, but I'd rather stay planet-side."

T'Pol would have preferred returning to her cabin and a chance to write her letter and meditate in private, but she didn't relish another argument with Tucker. "That is acceptable to me as well, Captain."

"Fine," Archer said. "We're going to be surveying the outer moon. Communication may get a little patchy depending where we are relative to you."

"Understood," T'Pol said. She turned to Tucker. "I assume you wish to join the others and their _s'mores_?"

Tucker shook his head. "No. I want to get a closer look at that pond we passed over on our way in. Care to join me?"

"No, thank you." It appeared she would get some time alone after all. She turned towards the shuttle. He hadn't volunteered any explanation of "s'mores," which was rather unlike him, but she could always look it up in the database.

Tucker raised his voice. "So you think she might be hitting me up for child support any day, huh?"

She stopped and turned back to him, surprised that he would wish to revisit that topic. "I would think you of all people would be familiar with the concept of an unplanned pregnancy."

His smile was clearly forced. "Oh, I'm quite familiar with the concept. But I'm guessing Vulcans aren't too familiar with the concept of _fooling around_."

T'Pol waited. It was clear she was about to get an explanation whether she wanted it or not.

Tucker's face turned red. "I figure that's got to be another one of those species differences. Because if you only mate every seven years, you're gonna use the time to really mate. But humans have a whole range of sexual activities that fall short of mating. We become sexually mature when we're really young. So for most of us there's a fair amount of _fooling around_ … which is to say, finding ways to have a good time without going all the way … without risking something more … permanent."

"I am familiar with human birth control techniques," T'Pol said, trying to cut him off.

"That's not what I mean," Trip said. "I'm not worried about Kaitama coming after me for child support because we didn't have that kind of … relations. We just, you know, resolved each other's tensions in a highly pleasurable way. That's all. I mean, she's a princess. She's hardly going to throw away her virginity on someone like me." He licked his lips nervously and continued. "Besides, I seem to recall you being pretty keen on the whole crew getting a chance to relieve their tensions. I mean, you were the one who suggested Risa."

She stared coolly at him. Why did he think this was of any interest to her whatsoever? She was a Vulcan. She was a Vulcan who no longer had a fiancé because she'd allowed herself to get caught up in exploring the galaxy with these humans and their endlessly unresolved tensions. "If you are quite finished sharing your valuable insights into human sexual practices, Commander, I was hoping I might get some time for meditation."

"Of course," Tucker said, his face redder than ever. "I'll get out of your way."

x x x

He lay across a sun-warm boulder and stared down into the lake and thought longingly about how good just one of those fat speckled fish might taste fried up in a griddle with some butter.

Thinking of grilled fish was making him hungrier. It was past time for dinner by now but Starfleet ration packs weren't exactly anything to hurry up for, and T'Pol was probably still meditating.

Any other woman might be impressed by a guy who could catch and prepare his own dinner, but doing that here would no doubt just confirm T'Pol's concept of him as a ruthless oversexed barbarian.

Why the hell had he tried to explain? He should have left well enough alone. She'd just given him her blandest look yet, a look that communicated You Are So Much Less Interesting to Me than the Least Significant Particle of Dust on this Planet.

He sighed and shifted position. The sun was just beginning to set, and tiny insects were beginning to swarm around his face. They weren't landing and biting, thanks to one of Phlox's handy hyposprays, but they were still annoying.

He slid down off his boulder and began the walk back. The evening air was cooling and his instinct was to look for some wood and build a fire, though they could stay perfectly comfortable simply by sleeping in the shuttle. No doubt T'Pol would inwardly sigh at the cave man building his totemic fire. She'd probably fear he might insist on regaling her with ghost stories or, worse, more sex talk.

Ah, screw T'Pol. He wanted a fire. So he was a cave man. What the hell did he care what she thought? She could stay in the shuttle and meditate all night if she wanted. He would sleep under the stars. He loved sleeping under the stars. Well, except for the bugs.

He headed into the scrub, hunting up wood before the light was gone. There was plenty, and he filled his arms full. "That's a lazy man's load," he could hear his mother's voice warning him, and apparently she was right, because he didn't see his footing clearly with all that wood in his arms and tripped over a tree root.

He fell onto his own armload of branches, which wouldn't have resulted in any more than some bruising if one of those branches hadn't somehow jammed itself right up into his thigh.

"Sonofabitch!" he hissed. He pulled the offending branch out of his leg and realized he was bleeding fairly impressively, so he clamped his hand down over the wound with as much pressure as he could. His heart began to pound hard and fast, which wasn't very helpful of it. If he'd hit the artery he could bleed out in minutes. He fumbled for his communicator, fear of death just barely overcoming embarrassment. "Tucker to T'Pol."

"T'Pol."

"I think I may have a medical emergency here."

There was a moment's hesitation, probably over his equivocating. "Where are you?"

"In the trees west of the shuttle. I'm, um, bleeding a fair amount."

"Keep this channel open, Commander. I'm on my way."

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews. Authors feed off reviews like vampires off blood, you know. So if you like it, please say so. Or offer constructive criticism. I welcome any comments. The reference to Vulcan night vision here is ripped off from Rigil Kent, who has so cruelly diverged from his readers in "Divergent Paths." (Well, at least he didn't kill Trip off.)

* * *

He tracked her tracking him easily, because he wasn't that far away and because she was using a flashlight even though it was only dusk. "I'm over here!" he yelled, impatient at her pace.

She quickened only slightly and blinded him with the flashlight when she arrived.

"Do you have to shine that in my face?"

"I can't treat you if I can't see you."

"It's not even dark yet!"

"It's dark to me. Humans have better night vision than Vulcans. Where are you bleeding?"

"It's my thigh." He grunted and tried to uncurl a bit to give her better access. "I can't believe there's finally something we're better at than you are."

"If you want me to examine the wound you are going to have to remove your hand."

"Could you just make sure I didn't get the femoral artery before I try that? I'd really rather not bleed out here."

She peered at the medical scanner. "Your bio-signs are well within acceptable levels. This suggests you are not in any immediate danger of bleeding to death. You might get better results in any case by depressing the pressure point at the top of your thigh."

"Oh." He knew that. He removed his hand and searched for the pressure point. He never had been too confident that he would find it in a real emergency, but soon he could feel the pulse under his fingers and he pressed down. The wound was still bleeding, but he figured T'Pol was probably right or there would be a lot more blood. Hell, he probably would have passed out by now. As it was he just felt the usual mild lightheadedness he tended to feel in the presence of any blood, his own or anyone else's.

"Hold the light for me," she said, and took scissors to his pants leg so she could get access to the wound. She held the scanner up to it again, frowning, then sprayed the wound with an antimicrobial. Then she held a large pad against it – hard.

"Ouch!" he complained.

"Pressure is required to help stop the bleeding."

"I know that, it just smarts."

"Do you require pain medication?"

"No. Well, maybe later."

So they sat in the woods silently as darkness fell, her hand pressing down on his thigh. Yes, here was yet another banner moment in their professional relationship.

She asked, "What were you doing out here in the woods in the dark?"

"I told you, it _wasn't _dark. I was gathering wood for a fire."

"It appears that the wood gathered _you_."

He scowled. Whoever said Vulcans didn't have a sense of humor had never met T'Pol, but he could have done without it at the moment.

She lifted up the bandage quickly to check for further bleeding. Apparently pleased with what she saw, she quickly cleaned the wound as Trip grimaced into the darkness. She strapped it closed with wound tape and covered the whole thing with a gel seal. Then she sat back and tried Enterprise. There was no response.

"They must be on the other side of the moon. I suggest we return to the shuttle," T'Pol said.

"Good idea," Trip said. "It's getting cold out here."

She held up the scanner again, presumably to check his temperature, but didn't say anything. She switched scanners to orient them toward the shuttle and stood up. "It is in that direction," she said, and helped him gain his feet. They fumbled for awhile over who would carry what and how much support he would require before they set off through the brush, his left arm draped over her right shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I see no need for you to apologize, unless you purposely impaled your leg on a branch."

"Maybe I'm just generally sorry," Trip said. "For disappointing you and all."

She said nothing, so he decided he'd shut up too.

x x x

The hardest part was getting up into the shuttle. It definitely needed a more convenient door, Trip decided, gritting his teeth as T'Pol helped him lift his wounded leg over the sill. He knew there were good reasons for the high lip – it reduced the chances of a breach due to a rough landing, and would also help keep the shuttle afloat in water – but there had to be a way to make it more ergonomic.

She helped him to one of the bunks in the back and then went forward to try using the shuttle's more powerful communications console. "Enterprise is still out of range," she reported. "But I should be able to reach Ensign Cutler." He could hear her raising the other shuttle pod and discussing the transmission of data from the medical scanner.

"It's nothing serious," Trip mumbled. He just needed to get warm. While they were sitting out there in the woods the cold had seeped into his bones and now it didn't want to leave. He found a blanket and curled up under it on the bunk.

T'Pol came back and scanned him again, head to toe, then took blood, then left to discuss whatever it was with Cutler at greater length. Trip shivered under his blanket. "Is there something wrong with the environmental controls?" he asked her, when she came back armed with a hypospray.

"No," T'Pol said. "You are experiencing the effects of a rapidly rising body temperature. Ensign Cutler believes you require an anti-viral and an analgesic and should be returned to the ship as soon as possible," T'Pol said, and gave him his shots in the neck. "You appear to have developed an unusually aggressive infection."

"You're kidding me."

"I am not."

"I didn't think this day could possibly get any worse." He curled into even more of a ball, shivering violently, and barely noticed when the shuttle took off.

x x x

When Trip next awoke, he was being hoisted in a fireman's carry over T'Pol's tiny shoulders, which was embarrassing no matter what they said about Vulcan strength. He might have protested he could walk if only he could put the words together properly.

Perhaps she heard him grunting incoherently because she said, "I'm taking you to decon."

"Ugh," was about as much as he managed to respond. His whole body ached now and instead of shivering with chills he was burning up with fever.

x x x

Phlox, in an EV suit, helped T'Pol lower Tucker onto the floor of decon. The engineer was semi-conscious at best, flushed with fever and covered in sweat, panting in obvious discomfort. "Doctor?" T'Pol said, hoping that Phlox had a plan, preferably in the form of a hypospray loaded with something that would resolve this situation quickly.

Phlox did administer a hypo but he shook his head over Tucker's vitals. "His fever is too high. I have a cooling bath I need to finish setting up over there. See if you can get him out of those clothes."

T'Pol would have preferred a different division of labor, but she wasn't the doctor. "Commander, we need to get your clothes off," T'Pol said, just in case Tucker had any idea what was going on, and perhaps he did since he seemed to be trying to cooperate. Unfortunately his efforts were clumsy at best. He ended up just staring dazedly as she peeled his ruined uniform off and threw it in the corner.

Phlox looked over. "Undershirt too. Leave the underwear – I expect he'd prefer to maintain a little modesty if possible."

T'Pol was relieved; Phlox had often struck her as excessively cavalier in that department.

"All right, you take the shoulders, I'll take the legs. Let's get him into this," Phlox said. He had already removed one of the metal benches that sat on either the side of the decon chamber and set up a shallow bath there instead. "The temperature differential may come as quite a shock."

It did. As soon as he hit the water Tucker yelled and began to struggle.

"Calm yourself, Commander!" Phlox said. "We have to reduce your fever. If you could stop thrashing it's just possible the subcommander won't be completely soaked by the end of this!"

Tucker looked up and seemed horrified to realize she was there. All the fight went out of him; he slumped back into the water as if he wished he could slip beneath the surface of it.

Phlox smirked. "T'Pol, perhaps you could try to sponge him down a bit while I get a better look at this wound."

T'Pol nodded and dipped a washcloth into the tepid water; Tucker was blinking up at the ceiling of the decon chamber with an unreadable expression, wincing occasionally as Phlox poked. She sponged water over the parts of his upper body that were not submerged. Oddly enough she found the repetitive action soothing, almost meditative. He seemed to be relaxing too, particularly as she sponged his hair and face and neck; his eyes slipped closed and his breathing deepened.

"You're doing a great job," Phlox said, startling her. "His fever is reducing nicely. I need to do some lab work and get a better idea of what is going on here. May I leave you with the commander? Get him out of this thing in another ten minutes or so. I've left towels for you. I'll see you get some food and drink too. Get some liquids into him if you can, and then I'd like him to try to get some sleep."

T'Pol nodded, resigned to becoming Tucker's nurse. Since she was stuck in decontamination with him it was the logical solution.

"Hopefully this won't take too much longer and I can get you both out of here," Phlox said. He held the scanner up to her. "Are _you _experiencing any symptoms?"

"No."

"Better let me get a blood sample from you too."

She offered her neck.

Phlox smiled. "Very good. Well, you know where to reach me. I'll leave the com channel to sickbay open. I'm sure the captain will be here soon; they're trying to get a temporary decon chamber set up for the other team."

"Wouldn't you expect us to be out of here by the time they return?"

"Oh no, they've been called back. We don't want to risk exposing any more crewmen to something this virulent."

"Surely the Commander's exposure was the direct result of his accident?"

"I can't rule out the possibility of other vectors. It's the speed and intensity of the infection that has me concerned. Commander Tucker apparently managed to get quite a large exposure directly into his bloodstream, but that doesn't mean the rest of the landing party hasn't had some exposure that may just take longer to manifest. Or Commander Tucker's infectious symptoms may be coincidental to the leg wound, although I doubt that. So please do let me know if you start to feel any symptoms at all."

"Of course, doctor."

This didn't look as if it would be over nearly as quickly as she had hoped.

x x x

Trip thought he might have appreciated a little unconsciousness about now, but the water they'd dropped him into had done its job and he was feeling almost human again. Compared to before he felt wonderfully comfortable, actually, and was content to lie there and be thankful for it while he listened to T'Pol and Phlox discuss next steps.

He could tell T'Pol was quietly horrified at the situation she was in. It also registered with him that he had been ill enough to rattle Phlox – which might have made him a little more nervous if he didn't feel so much better now. Obviously the worst was over. He agreed with T'Pol – this was all simply the result of his own clumsiness.

Too bad he probably wouldn't need any more sponge baths. Damn, but that had felt good. T'Pol had been surprisingly gentle with her ministrations, and Trip would have happily suffered them a great deal longer.

"Commander?" T'Pol said.

"Mmm?" He looked over. The doctor was gone. Had he dozed off?

"We need to get you out of the bath."

"Do we? It feels nice. That washcloth thing felt real nice too."

She didn't answer, just stared down at him, so he sighed and used the side of the shallow bath to pull himself up to a sitting position. From there, he stared down at his pale, hairy body and his newly-bandaged leg and his soaked underwear. He might have been tempted to try a joke about shrinkage except that he was quite sure T'Pol wouldn't get it and anyway Starfleet wouldn't exactly consider it appropriate professional conduct.

Of course Starfleet probably wouldn't be so keen on his attempt to explain about sex earlier, either. He grimaced; now that he was upright again that sense of wellbeing he'd had felt a few moments ago was fading.

"Commander?"

"Give me a minute." He wasn't quite sure how to get out of the tub without keeling over, and he didn't want to embarrass himself by making that too obvious.

"I will assist you," she said, and bent down to hook his arm over her shoulder.

"'Kay," he mumbled, and she propelled him up with surprising ease. All that Vulcan strength again, he guessed. Stepping out of the shallow tub made him gasp as his leg vividly reminded him that it still had a painful gash in it.

T'Pol supported him while Trip tried his best not to moan.

"You're getting wet," he said.

"I would recommend that we both dry off."

"Yeah, but as long as I'm up, if you don't mind…" He nodded toward the little bathroom.

She helped him shuffle over.

"I can handle it from here," he said, at the door.

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah." Or he'd die trying. No way in hell was he going to pee in front of her.

x x x

T'Pol toweled herself down, glad her thermal suit could retain warmth even when it was wet, and hovered outside the door, listening for the crash that would signal Tucker had overestimated his strength.

"Where's Trip?" Archer peered in through the window.

She inclined her head towards the bathroom door in explanation.

He smiled. "Oh, good. I was a little worried that you'd already killed him and disposed of the body."

"Not yet."

"Phlox asked me to drop off some clothes for you guys. Someone's on the way with some food too." T'Pol heard the hiss of the pass-through drawer engaging and moved forward to get what the captain had brought them.

Tucker picked that moment to open the door. He looked so pale and was leaning so obviously against the doorway that T'Pol immediately went back and tucked herself under his shoulder. He didn't protest as she helped him to the one bench that remained in place; she noticed that he was shivering again.

"How ya feeling, Trip?" Archer called.

"Been better, Cap'n," Trip said. "I'm freezing," he muttered quietly to T'Pol.

Archer said, "I heard you decided to duke it out with a piece of wood and lost!"

T'Pol took one of the towels Phlox had pointed out and rubbed Tucker down briskly, trying to get him dry as quickly as possible, then placed a blanket around him. His shivering continued. Perhaps more tellingly, he didn't even try to answer the captain. "Captain Archer brought us some dry clothing," she said.

Trip just nodded.

T'Pol walked forward to get the clothes. Archer lowered his voice. "He doesn't look too good."

"Has the doctor given you a report yet?"

"He has a theory that something in one of his own inoculations might be acting as catalyst for one of the local viruses. How are _you_ feeling?"

"I'm fine. How is the other away team?"

"Complaining about missing their camp fire. No sign of any illness. I'm sorry about this. I'm sure it's not your preferred way to spend the night."

T'Pol didn't say anything. Archer was correct, but there was no logic in regret.

x x x

"It's getting late. You haven't had any dinner," T'Pol told Tucker, after Archer left. A steward had brought them some food. She held his bowl of chicken soup under his nose, hoping to awaken some interest.

He turned his head away. "I'm not hungry."

"You should drink something, at least."

"I just want another blanket."

"It appears that your fever is rising again," she said. She raised her voice. "Doctor?" she asked. Phlox had said he'd leave the channel open. "I believe the commander is experiencing chills."

"Is he now?" Phlox's voice said. He sounded distracted. "Mmm. Yes, the commander's temperature does seem to be on the rise again. You may give him another dose of the analgesic. I trust he's not still in that wet underwear?"

She and Tucker exchanged chagrined looks. "You know, I don't even care anymore," he said. She injected him with another dose of analgesic and he cooperated as best he could as she stripped off the cold, wet cotton, trying not to jar his wound in the process. "Hope this isn't scarring you for life or anything," he said.

"I doubt it."

"You're not exactly seeing me at my best, you know."

"I haven't 'seen' anything." This was not strictly true, but she had kept her glances as brief as possible.

"Well there's no need to get insulting."

She assumed that was a joke of some kind, since he was clearly restraining a smile. She worked a fresh undershirt over his head and he managed to get his own arms through it. His hair was standing up in spikes from where she'd toweled it; she resisted an illogical urge to try to smooth it down. "I will get you something to drink," she said.

"Hey, how about some underwear?"

"Do you realize that if your fever spikes again we will just have to repeat this entire process?"

"Come on, T'Pol. I feel naked here."

"I thought you didn't care anymore."

"I lied. Plus this metal bench is pretty damned cold."

This time strategic use of the blanket better protected his modesty. They were improving their technique.

She brought him a drink, which he sipped obediently. "I'm still freezing," he complained.

"I will look for another blanket," she said, and went to search in the tiny adjoining locker room.

His voice rose to follow her as she hunted through the lockers. His tone struck her as a bit manic. "You know, we really ought to have a bed or a pallet of some kind in this room. I'm not the first person to be sick in decon. And I doubt I'll be the last."

"It is a reasonable suggestion. Perhaps your department could supply one."

"Yeah, of course, but wait and see, it will take two years to get Starfleet Medical to agree to the design change."

"You've modified the engines and power systems numerous times without waiting for Starfleet approval." She tucked another blanket around him.

"Oh, they trust me with _that _stuff. But Starfleet Medical has to sign off anything in this room and they don't trust anyone out here, not even Phlox. My theory is that they know they don't have a clue how to deal with all this alien crap so they automatically assume that applies to everyone else too."

"An intriguing if somewhat alarming analysis," T'Pol said. "You aren't drinking."

He sipped obediently. Despite the dose of analagesic, he was still clutching the blankets close.

She went to get the scanner and pointed it at him. "I believe your fever is still rising," she said.

He nodded. His face was very pale. "I think maybe I should lie down."

She helped him down to the light grid, which would at least provide mild warmth and would be no more uncomfortable than the rest of the floor.

He lay in a fetal curl, shivering violently. She wrapped his blankets around him and got a pillow out of the locker for his head.

"Thanks, T'Pol," he said, and snuggled into the pillow. "You'd make a really great mom."

She stiffened and stepped back. "I need to change," she said, and fled into the back with the clothing Archer had brought her.

x x x

What had he done now?

One minute she was smoothing a blanket over his back with surprising tenderness and the next she had disappeared into the locker room with a heavy snap of the decon chamber doors.

And she hadn't come back. Time had passed, then more time had passed. Trip felt abandoned, which he knew was childish of him, but he was the one who was sick here.

It just figured that he'd paid her probably one of the most heartfelt compliments he'd ever given a woman in his life, and she'd gone off into one of her inexplicable Vulcan funks.

He should just give up. She was _impossible._

He rolled over onto his back and threw off one of the blankets. The light was warming him up a little toomuch. "T'Pol?" he called.

After a moment, she opened the door. "Do you require assistance?" She had changed into that blocky brown tunic that made her look like she had linebacker's shoulders. Her expression had gone Super Vulcan.

He attempted his most cajoling tone. "What did I say?"

She stared down at him as if puzzled. "Commander?"

He was damned if he was going to let her play dumb. "Is telling a Vulcan she'd make a good mother a mortal insult or something?"

"Hardly. If you don't mind, it has been a long day. I was attempting to meditate. You should try to get some sleep."

"But you are upset at me, aren't you?"

"Vulcans don't get upset. If you will excuse me." She slid the doors closed.

"Maybe most Vulcans don't, but _you _do!" he said, loudly enough that he was certain she'd heard him, but there was no response. "Goddamn it," he said more softly. He peeled another blanket off. He was aching all over again. Presumably Phlox would notice if he was about to die or something. He had a feeling T'Pol wouldn't.

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Chapter 3

And here's the conclusion. Remember, this is a fairly racy T with adult themes so skip it if you don't like to go there (conversely, you could find a very slighty naughtier version at Triaxian Silk). Your reviews are much appreciated, thank you.

* * *

The man was intolerable. She knew the remark about motherhood had merely been thoughtless – he wouldn't know how unlikely that might be for her now – but to accuse her of reacting emotionally was really uncalled for.

Despite her annoyance at Tucker and the lack of a candle upon which to focus her thoughts, T'Pol eventually managed to reach the place she craved: her white space. The physical world with all its surfaces and movement and the endless forward rush of time was the antithesis of this. Here was calm, peace, stillness, balance. Her white space had not changed since she had first learned how to meditate as a young girl, and when she was an old woman on her deathbed, she fully expected her white space to be exactly the same as it was now.

So it was disconcerting when she realized there was a figure lying at a little distance from her in it.

She got up and walked over. It was Tucker. He was lying there in his blue undershirt and underwear, covered in sweat, shifting restlessly in obvious discomfort.

"Commander?" she said, astonished.

His eyes, which had been darting about, locked onto hers. He didn't say anything but his look was imploring.

With a start, she snapped out of meditation and rose to her feet, her heart pounding. How much time had passed? She slid open the flimsy doors to the decon chamber and saw that Tucker had somehow worked himself over towards the tub, though he didn't appear to be conscious, or at least not lucid. He was panting and sweating and muttering unintelligibly.

"Doctor?" she said, raising her voice. "Phlox?"

After a moment the Denobulan's voice came over the com. "Yes, T'Pol, I see. I'm on my way. Do what you can to cool him down; it will take me a few minutes."

T'Pol kneeled down next to Tucker. She was strong enough to lift him into the tub, but she doubted she could keep him from flailing around wildly once he hit the water. She settled for dipping the washcloth into the water, then sponging it over him right there on the floor. "Commander?"

His eyes opened and met hers. He stared for a moment, then reached out and clamped his hand on her wrist as if to hold her there. T'Pol sucked in a breath, suddenly overwhelmed by intense feelings of fear and guilt and grief. She had no idea how to sort it all out; she couldn't even tell if these feelings were his or her own. "It's all right," she whispered, responding instinctively, and kept sponging him with her free hand.

After she did this for a time his eyes drifted shut but he maintained a death grip on her. T'Pol just kept sponging the water over him, softly tracing the shape of his head, his face, his neck, his arms, his wrists, the hollow of his elbows, his armpits, his chest, his groin, anything that might help reduce the fever. In the midst of this she felt the oddest sensation – it was as if a piece of herself were breaking off inside and flowing out of her just like water from the wash cloth, quite beyond her control.

By the time Phlox arrived in his EV suit, Tucker had let go of her and settled back into sleep or the semblance of it; she continued sponging and waited for Phlox to pronounce on the matter.

He scanned the engineer. "Excellent. His fever is still high, but not dangerously so. You're really quite good at this." He shot Tucker with a hypospray. "I'm going to set up an IV; he's getting dehydrated."

"Have you arrived at a prognosis yet?"

"This is being caused by an alien virus that unfortunately interacted rather synergistically with one of the components of our standard inoculation against biting insects. I'm working on a specific anti-viral, but I am fairly certain this will run its course before I can synthesize enough to be of any use. Luckily Commander Tucker is a healthy young man. If anything, his immune system is rising to the occasion a little _too_ enthusiastically. I doubt there will be any lasting effects. It's just a bit tedious keeping his symptoms in check." He scanned Tucker's head again. "Interesting spike in serotonin levels. Has he been delirious?"

"I couldn't say," T'Pol said, declining to share her odd experience during meditation. Was it possible humans had unsuspected telepathic abilities when their brains were super-heated? Or had that simply been her own brain's way of notifying her there was something important she was overlooking? "I was meditating in the back," she confessed. "I should have kept better watch over him."

"Oh, nonsense," Phlox said. "You can't stay awake forever. I had the alarm set to let me know if he was getting into trouble. As it happened you were on it sooner than I was."

"When we can leave decon?" T'Pol asked. "I am sure Commander Tucker would be more comfortable in a bed in sickbay than on this floor." She reached for a towel and started sopping up the puddle he was lying in; her own slacks were quite soaked.

Phlox was focused on the IV he was assembling. "Actually, I've already released the other team. If your blood work is still clear when I get back, you'll be free to go. Commander Tucker will have to stay, but I could take your place. I'd say you've already gone beyond the call of duty here."

T'Pol frowned. Offered a way out, she felt strangely reluctant to take it. "There is no logic in replacing me here when you may yet need access to your lab facilities."

Phlox looked surprised and perhaps a touch amused. "No? Well, by all means stay, then."

x x x

Trip was lying on a nice warm blanket on his favorite little-known beach. One had to navigate a narrow path through mangroves to get to it and few locals and even fewer tourists ever bothered. It wasn't the typical sandy beach Florida was known for – most of those required regular applications of truckloads of screened sand – but the shells and pebbles had been mostly broken down into a fine crumb and it was comfortable enough.

What he couldn't quite figure out was why _she_ was here, apparently asleep, next to him. He was in his Starfleet blues and nothing else, which was not, of course, what he usually wore to the beach; she was extremely overdressed for the weather in a slightly-too-large Starfleet uniform.

"What are you doing in that?" he asked softly, experimentally.

Her eyes opened and she regarded him dispassionately. "I was wet, so I changed. How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"That is good."

He rolled over on his side and stared at her. "So what are you doing here, anyway?"

"I don't know," T'Pol said, looking about curiously.

"Maybe I'm dreaming," he suggested.

"A reasonable supposition."

"I've never dreamed about you in an outfit like that, though."

"You've dreamed about me before?" She looked interested.

He chuckled. "Probably every man on the ship has dreamed about you. Maybe some of the women too."

She frowned. "Your species appears to expend a great deal of energy on such matters. It is surprising to me that you have been able to make such rapid progress into space, considering your constant preoccupation with sex."

"It is amazing, isn't it?" he agreed. Now that she'd brought it up, he was conscious of the growing pressure of his own arousal. But of course it was a dream with T'Pol in it, so there was nothing new about that. He smiled at her. "I dream about you a_ lot_."

"Why?" She looked apprehensive.

He scooted closer to her with all the boldness of his dream-self. "Well, you're very beautiful, for one thing. You know that. And you're smart and strong and funny too, in your own way. And somehow I just keep thinking that underneath that tight-ass Vulcan facade you're just _dying_ for someone to notice how passionate you are." And he bent down and kissed her hungrily.

But something wasn't right. She wasn't responding like his usual dream T'Pol. Her mouth remained closed. She was actually trying to pull away from him.

"What's the matter?" he said, drawing back.

"You don't understand," T'Pol said. "The only thing you'll find under my Vulcan façade is something even more Vulcan. I am Vulcan. Not secretly human. _Vulcan._"

Trip frowned. "Meaning?"

"Vulcans don't have casual sex to relieve tension – or to indulge their idle curiosity about others' true natures. Vulcans mate for life."

"I could do that," he said, surprising himself.

"You can't. You don't even know what it means." She rolled away from him.

"Then explain it to me," he said, pursuing her, grabbing her from behind until they were spooned together.

"I wish I could. It's simply not possible."

He held on tighter and gently nuzzled the back of her neck. "You might as well try, because I'm not going to let you go." He ran a hand through her hair and traced the point of her ear with his tongue.

She sighed and he could tell she was becoming aroused despite herself. He pressed his advantage, kissing her down her ear, then all over her neck, then climbing over her and returning to her lips; this time she opened her mouth for him and their tongues dueled until he felt her hands impatiently grabbing at him. He undid her zipper and pulled down the top of her uniform and pushed up the undershirt, desperate to get his mouth on her breasts and the greenish bronze nipples standing taut and erect for him. She moaned and arched her back and then they were desperately pushing what remained of their clothing out of the way. In his dream there was no inconvenient wound on his leg.

Soon they were joined. He stopped, suddenly overwhelmed at where he found himself – this seemed much more real, somehow, than it ever had before – and stared down into her eyes. "You're really mine?" he whispered, amazed.

She stared back at him with huge eyes that were dark with desire – and despair. "You have no idea what you've done."

x x x

Trip awoke with a start, his heart pounding, gasping at the shock of falling out of a dream so vivid that he felt damn near close to coming right there on the floor of the decon chamber.

Which was a bit problematic since upon waking he also found himself wrapped possessively around the first officer.

He backed off in a panic, horrified that she might have felt his erection pressing against her – or worse. What if he'd been dry-humping the Vulcan in his sleep? Only now did he notice that he had an IV line running into his left hand. He eyed it with puzzlement; he had no memory at all of how it had gotten there.

Putting that mystery aside for the moment, he carefully got up on his right elbow and peered down at T'Pol, relieved that she appeared to still be sound asleep. She was still fully dressed, lying next to him on the floor in the same too-large Starfleet uniform from his dream, which seemed odd since he'd never seen her in it before. There was a fine sheen of perspiration across her forehead; perhaps she'd caught the bug too; perhaps that was how she'd allowed herself to be found lying down here on the floor next to him.

He collapsed onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Now he could see that his IV line ran up to a bag attached to a little rack set up behind him. The last he remembered, T'Pol was off being pissy in the back room and he was lying here thinking he didn't feel too good. But Phlox must have been here at some point, if he had something dripping into him. And T'Pol had definitely been wearing something different – that shapeless Vulcan tunic – before.

Maybe this was just another fever dream?

T'Pol stirred softly in her sleep and rolled over to face him, still without waking up. Afraid she might yet awaken and get the wrong idea – it was taking awhile to lose the erection – he rolled away from her, careful not to jar the IV line, and lay there as quietly as he could.

Then, to his amazement, he felt her small, warm hand on his back. She snuggled up behind him.

He lay absolutely still, paralyzed by disbelief. T'Pol was _snuggling?  
_

And yet at the same time, it felt so good – as if a circuit had been connected, and all was right with the universe – that he began to relax. He allowed himself to bask in her warmth, as well as the sheer pleasure of not feeling ill anymore. Soon he was asleep.

x x x

T'Pol heard voices.

"Oh my goodness. _That's_ not something you'll see every day." Phlox.

"I should hope not." Archer.

"It's rather sweet, don't you think?"

"_Sweet _is not the word I'd use."

"No?"

"_Explosive_, maybe. As in core breach imminent, all hands abandon ship!"

Abandon ship? T'Pol opened her eyes to a wall of blue cotton that smelled just like Commander Charles Tucker III.

She sat up abruptly and scooted back.

"Good morning, Subcommander!" Phlox said cheerfully. "I'm glad to see you got some rest."

"T'Pol," Archer said. He looked grim. "Are you ill?"

T'Pol considered. It would explain much. However, she didn't feel any symptoms beyond astonishment at the position she'd found herself in upon waking. "I don't believe so, Captain."

Tucker began to stir. She backed away further. He was sporting one hell of an erection under his underwear. She hoped she didn't have anything to do with it.

"Commander!" Archer said. "How are you feeling?"

"Wha - ?" Tucker woke up and tilted his head back towards the little window. "Cap'n?"

"Feeling better?" The captain was smirking.

Tucker looked confused. His eyes shot to T'Pol. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

Suddenly he seemed to realize that he was putting on quite a show. He scrambled to put his back to her and pulled one of the discarded blankets into his lap.

"Your temperature is back to normal, Commander," Phlox said. "I just need one more blood sample from each of you to confirm that the virus is no longer an issue, and you'll be free to leave decon. I'll still want you in sickbay to make sure your wound is healing properly. How does it feel?"

"A lot better," Tucker said. He looked over his shoulder at T'Pol. He looked confused, and even a little upset. "I feel like I'm missing something important."

She stared back at him and felt troubled herself – by vague memories of something happening between them that could not have happened. Not between her and any human. Certainly not between her and _this_ human.

"Here's a fresh med kit," Phlox said, loading the pass-through drawer. "Also some fresh clothing. You won't need that IV anymore, if T'Pol is willing to remove it for you."

"I'll check in on you later in sickbay, Trip," Archer said. "And I wouldn't mind seeing you back on duty later, when you're ready, T'Pol."

"Of course, Captain," she said.

Archer gave her a tight smile and left.

"I'll just take those blood samples," Phlox reminded her.

T'Pol went to retrieve the med kit and took samples from each of them, then handed them over. "I'll let you know the results shortly," Phlox said, and disappeared.

Silence fell. They regarded each other.

"Would you like me to remove the IV?" she asked.

He nodded. His stare was intense, uncomfortably so.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she said.

He just nodded and held out his hand. When she took it she felt a great swell of feeling rise up from him. She bit her lip and focused on getting the IV out properly, focused on not getting sucked into his messy human maelstrom of emotions, but she was practically trembling with the effort of maintaining her distance. Finally she got the bandage on over the puncture site and sat back, meeting his eyes for the first time.

His stare had turned fierce. "Something happened between us."

She held herself very still. "You may have imagined something. You were quite ill."

"I'm telling you, something happened. I can feel it – something's different. I just don't understand exactly what it is."

"Nothing happened," she said softly. "We are too different. It is not possible."

He grabbed her hand. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Tell me!"

She pulled it free with a flash of anger that shocked her. Did this primitive human think he could resort to force? "Vulcans don't fool around, Commander. _Nothing happened_."

For a moment he looked incandescent with rage, and she backed up, prepared to defend herself – perhaps even _eager _to defend herself. It was a most peculiar sensation.

Tucker stared furiously at her for a moment longer, then turned on his heel and went into the bathroom.

She stood there, panting slightly, oddly disappointed that he had withdrawn.

When he came out again, he didn't even look at her, just went straight to the drawer to retrieve his clothing and back to the locker room to get dressed.

She picked up her own uniform, but decided she would take it to her quarters to change.

Phlox's cheery voice came over the com. "Good news! T'Pol, as before, you are free to go. Commander Tucker, I will be waiting for you in sickbay."

Tucker scowled. "I'm on my way." At the door, he paused and looked back at her. "Thank you for taking care of me," he said, with stiff courtesy, and walked away without looking back.

T'Pol stared after him, struck by the perception that a tiny thread of connection had begun to stretch between them down the corridor even as he walked away.

But that was impossible.

She returned to her quarters to shower and dress, relieved to see that all was as she had left it. Somehow it would not have surprised her to find that it had changed.

But something had changed. During the night the urgency she had felt down on the planet to write her mother about Koss had evaporated. She decided it could wait.

She would find her own way in her own time.

She would stay on Enterprise.

THE END


End file.
